Coming Home
by TeenageDirtbag182
Summary: When Payton learns of her Aunt Melinda's brain tumor, she rushes back home from the big city of New Orleans.  After convincing her Uncle Hal to give her a job on the Mile, her life changes forever.  First fic, possible BrutalxOC.  Rated T to be safe.XD
1. A Lot's Changed

What is a miracle? Truly? Some people would say life is a miracle. I would disagree. Life can be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but it can also drive you completely mad. Push you over the edge; make you claim your own life as no more.

Other people would say an important event, like winning the lottery, is a miracle. Not so. Okay, you instantly have a million dollars. You buy a fancy car, get married to the hottest girl/guy in town, and set up a mortgage for your new mansion. In six months, a year if you're lucky, you'll be so broke the bank will reclaim your house, you can't afford to keep gas in your car, and your spouse will take any pocket change you have left, leave you, and start living with the next richest person in town. Not a miracle.

A miracle—in my opinion—is a person… not a thing. Someone who never does the innocent wrong and will try to make all the wrongs in the world right. Someone who doesn't judge even if judged in return. Someone who appreciates the small things and doesn't let the big things weigh them down. Someone who carries the most burdens, but yet is the most free. To me, that's a miracle.

.:oOo:.

I blinked the sleep from my grayed, dusty-green eyes. A stretching yawn made my muscles rev up and prepare themselves for the day. And a long day it was going to be.

Despite the early morning mental haze, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and rose from the warmed covers. A cool morning breeze drifted through the open windows, causing the white cotton drapes to flow ghostly towards the center of the tiny bedroom in a rippling wave.

I hastily swapped out the ages-old linen nightgown for some high-rise jean capris and a crisp button-down shirt. A brush expertly made its way through my long, dark brown hair. Well, the only reason my hair was long was because I've been too lazy lately to get it chopped professionally and I couldn't draw a straight line, let alone cut my hair evenly. Although, I wouldn't be able to afford it cut professionally anyway. My hair had been straight once upon a time, too. I never could understand how my hair went from being straight to lazy, uneven waves to the lank but more defined ringlets I have now. Although my hair was nothing spectacular, it was my pride and joy.

_Ah, what the heck. _I sigh, gently undoing the bun that I failed to make at the nape of my neck. I covered it with a dusty, floppy sunhat instead. _What's the point of looking fancy anyway?_ A woman looking for a job in the depression? At a prison on top of that! There was almost no chance of me walking out of Cold Mountain Penitentiary with a paying job. It was that one glimmer of hope that made me eat a humble breakfast of some bread and a glass of milk, hurriedly brush my teeth, and set out for the prison on foot.

Uncle Hal Moores. He was my get-in-for-free card. He runs Cold Mountain Prison, and it just so happens that I am his wife's niece. I haven't been in town long. When I heard of Aunt Melinda's tumor, I had to come from New Orleans back to the town I was born and raised at to see her. I practically grew up at their house. On the weekends, Uncle Hal would take me fishing all day. In the week, he wasn't around during the day. But when he came home he'd cook on the grill and have a few of his friends over. They were always entertaining. When they'd leave and I'd sleep over, he'd tell me tales of all sorts of things. My favorites were ones he completely made up about three pigs, a farmer, a tractor, and a mud hole.

Aunt Melinda taught me everything I know about life: how to read, cook, clean, garden, and have good penmanship. She would sit on the swing on the porch with me. We'd talk about anything and everything. She'd even read a few of her books to me when there was nothing more to talk about. She set me to work around her house, doing the dishing, dusting, weeding the garden were the ones I did most. When I was done, though, she'd always have something good to eat. The thing I loved the most was her strawberry shortcake and fresh-squeezed lemonade. Nothing was better on a hot summer's day!

I finally reached the main road to town. My shoes had a fine layer of dust on them from kicking up the dirt roads. The scorching sun tortured the withered, dried-up grasses and weeds along the path. They were solemn reminders of what a lifetime without rain could do to you. A cool breeze picked up then, making them whisper hopeful rumors of precipitation to each other.

The town, which I remembered so clearly from my childhood, was gone. Half the shops were closed down, now just empty shells of the buildings I had spent all my spare money in years ago. My favorite of all was no longer running, either. The old candy shop, Warfle's Sweets, now stood abandoned and neglected. Ivy somehow climbed the faded bricks, stealing their sunlight. The windows were boarded, and you could just see the faded image of a swirly lollipop on the shop's door.

_A lot's changed._

At that moment, a black Ford pulled up next to me with a middle-aged man behind the wheel. He asked me politely, "Can I be taking you anywhere, miss?"

It grabbed my attention that he was in an officer's getup.

"Cold Mountain Penitentiary."

He narrowed his hazel eyes curiously, "You visiting?"

I nodded, waiting for him to make up his mind. After a second's thought, he replied, "Well, that's where I'm headed. You can go with me, unless you'd rather walk?"

I smiled in thanks, "No, I've been walking a lot lately."

I proceeded to get in the passenger seat of his car. He put his hat on and I took mine off as we pulled down the street.

"The name's Paul Edgecombe, head officer of E Block at ol' Cold Mountain," he said friendlily, "May I ask yours?"

I knew I'd seen his face before, but I hadn't known from where. Now I recognized uncle Hal's close friend that would come over regularly for dinners. His wife, Jan, was a good cook. He even invited me to his house a few times with Hal and Melinda.

"Payton Blake," I answered him, watching his face. His brow furrowed in thought. Did he remember me?

"That's good. I was afraid you'd come to visit someone in my block."

My eyebrows raised out of surprise that he didn't recognize me, but he took it that I was offended, "Not that I don't want you on E Block. You seem like a polite young lady and all, but my block holds people on Death Row until their execution."

"So you deal with the worst of Louisiana?" I asked for the sake of keeping a conversation going.

He made a face, "My job is to keep the peace in the block. I rarely have to _deal_ with anyone. The prisoners and I get along fine most the time. They're under enough strain as it is; they don't need to be pushed over the edge."

I stared out the window at the dried-up fields, "They're doin' their time. After they've paid what they owe, they'll be let free."

We were quiet for a while. It wasn't awkward, we were just thinking in our own little worlds. We stayed like that until the image of gray-walled, barbed wire fenced Cold Mountain Penitentiary appeared. It looked dangerous for those inside and out. The deadly wire fences dared anyone to try and cross them. Even the darkened windows looked ominous in the bright sun. Prisoners mulled around in the fenced yard, but other than that, there was no movement.

The gates were opened for us and Paul pulled through into the dirt parking lot. After the Ford was turned off, he turned to me, "Can I show you to the office, ma'am? After you tell who you wish to visit, they'll call them in for you."

I looked back up to the various buildings. It struck me that I had no clue where I was going, "Please."

We got out of his car. He led the way away from the parking lot and to the building nearest us. I found it hard to keep up with his stride as we passed the exercise yard. Prisoners waved their greetings to Paul. A few asked "Boss Paul, who dat?" I smiled and waved shyly to the men lined up against the chain-link fence.

"Here we are, Miss Blake," Paul said once we got to the door, "If you need any help, just talk to Warden Moores. He'll aid you to the best of his ability."

I bowed my head, "Thank you for helping me to the best of _your_ aid, Mr. Edgecombe. I'll be fine from here."

He nodded, "Have a good day, ma'am."

I watched him as he walked away. He stopped along the fence to chat with the inmates. A true peace-keeper.

Not two seconds before I was going to open the office door, it flew open on its own. A sharp yelp escaped my lips as whoever threw open the door grabbed me.

"Get the hell off me!" I panicked. Who the hell had ahold of me? An inmate? At that thought, I tried in vain to punch the assailant in the head.

"Ow, Pay! What's gotten into you?" shouted a familiar, deep voice.

I stopped punching, "Uncle Hal!"

It was me this time that attacked him in a heavy bear-hug. I hadn't realized how much I've missed him in New Orleans, but now that I was back home it was all coming back. The days with Melinda on the swing. The nights with Hal eating barbeque. My only _true_ family.

I didn't notice the hot tears sliding down my face until Hal said something.

"Oh Payton, it's okay. You're here now, it's okay," he sighed, gently rocking me back and forth. A stifled sob forced a few more tears to fall.

"I missed ya'll so much. And coming back under the circumstances…"

A few more sobs filled me. I tried to quiet them, but they still went through. Hal made a gruff sound.

"Oh, stop this hugging, "he said jovially, "I can't have the inmates getting' ideas that I'm soft. Here, let me get a look at you."

He pulled out of the hug to look me over. His eyes became glassy and his head shook, "Who woulda known five years could change someone so much?"

It was true. He seemed so much more aged since I left the small-town life for the excitement of the city. The lines on his face had grown deep, far too deep for a man of his age. His light-brown hair had balded out on top of his head and was fading to gray. Even his eyes had changed. They used to be so happy, glinting with cunning. Now, they seemed to have dulled down and show the strain he must feel every time he sees his wife. His wife with a fatal brain tumor.

"You've grown so much. Even your hair's gotten long," he said at last.

"You've changed too, you know," I said jokingly, giving his shoulder a pat.

He laughed, "Getting older, you mean," he rubbed the back of his neck like it pained him, "Now, what brings you to Cold Mountain all by yourself?"

I shook my head, eyes wide, "No, Mr. Edgecombe brought me. He saw me in town and asked if I wanted a ride. And no, he didn't recognize me."

"Well, I don't blame him. You really have changed, dear."

"Uncle Hal, I need a job," I told him, sort of guiltily. I wasn't using him to get an easy job. I had no money, lost it all in the city. I wouldn't be able to afford my house without a monthly income.

His whole demeanor changed. His eyebrows lowered, a shade cast over his eyes. Even his voice became a bit deeper, "Why did you come here then? There is no WAY you're gonna work at a _prison!_ I won't allow it!_"_

I had expected this much, "Hal, we are in a depression. The worst in American history…you know no one is going to hire a young woman before they hire a man. And trust me; there are plenty of able men looking for jobs."

"Well then I guess you won't have a job! Because I'm certainly not going to give you one!"

This caught me off guard. I was hurt by that, "What? You think I can't do it? You think I can't hold my own? I've _been_ holding my own in New Orleans! Half the guys on the streets are more dangerous than the people in this prison! You don't know what I've gone through!"

"And you don't know what Melinda and I have been going through!" he shot back, "The x-ray! The treatments coming up! Having to keep it a secret from her that she's going to die!"

This made my stomach drop out from under me. I knew the tumor couldn't be removed, but here was the first time I heard it said out loud. That Aunt Melinda's time was limited. Hal's eyes were about to spill over. Mine were too.

"Uncle Hal?" I asked cautiously. A small sob escaped him this time. I swept him in another hug. He kept himself together better than I had. No tears dripped to my shoulder, but he stayed in my hug, his face in my hair. He was composing himself before he emerged, eyes dry and face indifferent.

"I don't want you working here. I can't let anyone hurt a woman, let alone one I know and hired myself," he sounded so resigned, but he wanted me to prove him wrong.

"I can work office duty. I don't need to be in direct contact with the inmates," I suggested hopefully.

He shook his head, "There is only one place we need anyone, and that's because most other people don't want it. It's on E Block."

I nodded knowingly, "Death row. I can do that. I'll be with Paul Edgecombe, you trust him don't you?"

He looked at me sadly. There was so much on his mind, sometimes he wants to just give in, "Fine. Fine. You can start there tomorrow."


	2. Family Matters

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the lack of an author's note in the first chapter, I completely forgot it. Sorryz XD Anyway, this will be Payton after she gets her job from her Uncle. And I apologize again for keeping people waiting; school is crazy along with family stuff. AND i was writing this in class and I had to go potty so I went and when I came back my teacher had collected it! She totally STOLE my rough draft for this! I didn't ask for it back because I'd get in trouble for not paying attention. So today I wrote this at home. And that's my pitiful excuse. Well, enjoy Family Matters and thank you for reading!**

The golden afternoon light filtered through the trees, making the pale and chipped siding of the house seem alive. The shadows of the leaves danced along the boards, lightening the windows. A lot of paint was missing, but it was holding up well.

I sat in Uncle Hal's truck, looking up at the beautiful, albeit big, house. I could hear the creaks of the rusted chains on the porch swing. I sighed, feeling something well up inside me. I wasn't sure what it was, but it felt like my lungs had been tied in a knot. I didn't like it. Nonetheless, I got out the old Ford pickup and walked up the front lawn. The long grass tickled my feet through the sides of the sandals. I tried to swallow the sickness, but it refused to give up tormenting me. _She's not gone yet, Payton. Get a freakin grip._ I shook my head hard, trying to get composed. A threatening throb responded, warning me that if I did that any more I'd get another migraine. I've been getting those a lot lately.

She didn't notice me until I stepped on the creaky stairs to the porch. Her face was blank for a beat. In that moment, I was terrified. _She doesn't remember._ Just as I thought that, her face broke out in a toothy smile, "Hey, Pumpkin. Haven't seen you in a while."

I almost broke down at the mention of my old nickname, "I know, Aunt Melinda. I know. And _you_ know that I hate pumpkins"

We both smiled at each other cordially. The old joke helped unwind my tightness. _She doesn't hate me for leaving. She can't._

"There's been no one to dust the top of the cabinets. I'd've done it, but Hal doesn't want me on a step ladder," she laughed, shaking her head. I tried to match her smile, but it was difficult. Her eyes got glassy then as she looked me over, "You've grown up, Payton."

"Never," I replied, sitting next to her on the swing. She raised me to be young, to have the same freedom as a kid throughout my whole life. And she was a little kid inside, too. She didn't look it, though. She had become _so_ skinny! You could almost see every frail bone under her gray, sallow skin. Her face had become wrinkled in places it shouldn't have been, the lines stretching over her cheekbones and forehead. Her dark blue eyes had sunk deep into her head, giving her the appearance of a sickly skeleton. Even her hair, which had once been the most beautiful red, now dulled and grayed way before the proper age to do so. She looked so…_old_. And she wasn't! She wasn't old at all! Maybe early 50s? Mid 50s? Not old at all!

"What brings you back to this little town from the excitement of the party city?"

I shrugged, "The Depression is wreaking havoc everywhere. I couldn't land a job without turning to doing something illegal, so I figured I'd fix up Mom's old house and plant a job here."

Her thin eyebrows rose ever so slightly, "Where'd you get a job round here?"

I swallowed. I was gonna tell her, no doubt in that. But how would she take it? Understanding or furious?

"Cold Mountain Penitentiary. On E Block."

Her eyes narrowed slightly and we were quiet for a bit. I've known her long enough to know she was thinking of how to put whatever she was thinking into words. She never was one to yell, and if she did yell, it was because she was on the verge of tears. But sometimes the most stinging insults come from the softest of voices.

She took a deep breath, "Your uncle know?"

I nodded slowly. My mind went back to the times when I was in trouble, about to get a shouting at. It always seemed like if I said anything, it'd make it worse. I would look up at –usually my mother—terrified, knowing that a beating would follow shortly after the profanity-filled yelling match. And after she deemed the cuts and bruises on my body painful enough, she'd retreat to the kitchen to down another flask of scotch. I'd sneak out the door and run. Where to? My aunt's and uncle's arms.

Melinda took another breath, "Well, if he says you can, who am I to question? And if _he_ said yes, you must've been persuasive!"

I laughed with her, more out of relief than humor. She didn't hate me! The sickness disappeared completely now, setting my mind free. Except for a question that I couldn't quite pin down. It felt like I hadn't been that persuasive with Uncle Hal. I had been expecting a lot worse than a few tears. Why _did_ he let me in so easily?

.:oOo:.

The honk of a car horn sent me out the house and to my uncle, who was waiting for me in the driveway. He didn't want me walking (more like hitch-hiking) to work all time, so he offered to drive me. Until I bought a car, anyway.

"Hey, Uncle Hal!" I called merrily as I hopped into the passenger seat. He looked far from happy as I slammed the door shut and we started towards the prison, but even he couldn't help but smile at my jolliness.

"I see I guessed the right size of your uniform yesterday," he mused, looking at the prison-issue navy officer's jacket open over the best button-down shirt I owned and the plain prison-issue navy skirt that went down to my knees.

"You did, they fit just fine. I particularly love the hat," I smiled, cocking the prison-issue hat over my eyes. Hats are always a lot of fun.

Hal's voice took on a note of seriousness, "Payton, you can't play around at Cold Mountain. It is filled with men convicted of stealing, murder, and rape. And you are about to be with the worst of them. The one, Bitterbuck? He killed a man in a fight over a pair of boots. Eduard Delacroix is an arsonist, rapist, and murderer! And we're getting a new inmate tomorrow convicted of raping and killing two little girls! _Two little girls!_ You can't play around in a place with those kinds of people, Pay! I will NEVER forgive myself if you get hurt."

I let him go on until he was finished. I had learned to let his flares run their course before I interjected a long time ago.

He looked exhausted. His always-drooping eyelids looked especially heavy this gray morning.

I laid a hand on his shoulder, "Hal Moores. You know I will never blame you for anything. You've helped me my entire life, I will never be able to pay it back. You're just going to have to live with my love and gratitude that I give every day."

He nodded, keeping his gray eyes on the gray road. The gray clouds churned over the gray world. _Why can't something be colorful for once? Why can't some things always bring light to our lives?_

We were quiet for the rest of the ride. We passed men digging ditches in striped jumpsuits. We passed a few watch towers. Some more men. Some more towers. Finally, the looming image of Cold Mountain appeared, looking a bit more intimidating than normal. And watching the striped jumpsuits tethered in shackles march, I couldn't help but wonder if this had been a bad idea.

.:oOo:.

Once we got inside the prison, Hal had insisted on delivering me to E Block, so I let him. We didn't talk much on the way, but that's how we both were. We appreciated the occasional quiet to gather our thoughts. There was a lot of thought-gathering going on.

"I did all your paperwork yesterday. You're free to get straight to work," he said once we reached the door to my new future.

I took a breath and huffed it out. Without warning, I gave Hal a quick hug. "Thank you. You won't regret it, I promise."

He mumbled _yeah, yeah, yeah,_before going to his office, leaving me to look at the door to E Block all by myself.

_Stop thinking and just do it _I thought to myself.

I opened the door to my future… the green mile.

**I feel like I'm ripping you off. She hasn't gotten to meet anyone at the Mile yet . For the record, I wrote this in 4 hours without stopping. I was determined to give ya'll something by today ;)! And then I had problems publishing this darned chapter… but I promise I will get more out to this story. Spring break has arrived, and the Easter bunny will put in a good word to the Muses for me. XD I don't blame you if you have no clue what I'm talking about. Now that I have some free time, I can write freely. More is on the way, and to you fellow Christians, happy Easter! XD**


	3. First Impressions

**Hello! Here ya'll go, the next chapter of Coming Home! I worked hard on this one, I think I did well time-wise. I just hope the writing is just as well, too. It will switch from Payton's to Paul's point of view then back to Payton's by the end of this chapter. Thank you, and please enjoy! XD**

The first word that came to mind when I opened that door was _confined._ The block was just one long hallway with four cells on each side. In front of me was a desk surrounded by filing cabinets stacked high with papers. The room was taller than it was long; the bars of the cells made it feel like you were in a bird cage, inside it or not. Windows let light flow down in spotlights on the faded green tile floor.

I looked up at the five other guards. I recognized Paul Edgecombe immediately; he seemed honestly confused at my presence. Well, they all did. One inmate with a coarse French/Cajun accent said, "Bosses! There be a lady! Wha you tink she want?"

Paul quieted him, "What can I do for you, Miss Blake?"

I could feel myself blush at the attention I was attracting, "Hello, everybody. Hal Moores is my uncle, and he gave me a job here. I'm to start today."

The men's eyebrows rose at the same exact time. The really tall one exchanged a glance with the older one and Paul's eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. The one who probably spent more time combing his hair than sleeping looked me up and down, smiling as he did. I didn't like him much.

After a few second's silence, the youngest guard asked, "You're Payton Blake?"

I nodded. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. I didn't figure on how the other guards would treat me… and the way that one's lookin' at me I might be in trouble._

The one who brushed his hair a lot was now grinning smugly, looking at all of me but my face. I had grown accustomed to his kind in the city. They usually received a well-deserved slap across the face. I didn't slap this one, although it would've given me great pleasure to do so. Getting into a fight the first day on the job probably would land me a new position rotting in the ever-growing unemployment line. In vain, I tried to obscure his view when I crossed my arms over my chest, "Hasn't anyone told you that staring—especially at a lady—is incredibly rude?"

'Pretty boy' broke out of his daydreams to his buddies giving him some nasty looks. It was my turn to smile at his expression. _Gotcha._

"Percy, go to the front office and make sure the paperwork for the new inmate is done," Paul ordered shortly.

Percy was defiant, "Harry already did! I don't see why I gotta check, I'm sure he did a well-enough job!"

The older officer, apparently Harry, spoke up then, "Now that you mention it, I think I left the new arrangement of the cells out of my report. The office needs that for every new inmate."

Percy opened his mouth to complain, but decided against it. He left E Block muttering insults under his breath and shaking his head.

"May God bless the arrangement of the prison cells," I sighed once he was gone. This whole thing was starting off on the wrong foot.

"You'll have to ignore Percy," the tall officer said with a weak smile, "He gets under everyone's skin. I'd've knocked 'em out a dozen times before if he wasn't the governor's wife's nephew. Hell, everyone he's ever met would've knocked him out if he didn't have connections."

_Wow, good thing I didn't smack him._

"I hate to say it, but Brutal's right. Percy's just the type to go to the zoo, not to look at all the animals but to throw rocks at 'em," the young, blonde-haired, solemn faced man replied, "The name's Dean, by the way.""

He extended his hand to me cordially and I shook it with a smile, "It's a pleasure, Dean."

Paul came up next, "Of course you already know me. I thought I knew your face from somewhere."

I shook his hand along with Harry's. Then the tall guy was in front of me; now that we were closer, he was at least half a foot taller than me, and I was 5' 6''. His white-blonde hair was chopped in a buzz cut and his eyes shone pale blue, "I'm Brutus, but everyone calls me Brutal."

I cocked my head to the side, "Why's that, 'cause you're tall?"

He gave a small, amused grin, "Naturally."

I grinned back, "Just 'cause you're tall doesn't mean you're brutal, does it? You could be a gentle giant for all I know."

Dean let out a sudden laugh, "Gentle? With Brute's temper? He's got a fuse shorter than his hair!"

The men chuckled at the teasing, so I smiled along with them, "I guess I shouldn't get on your bad side, huh?"

"Trust me," Paul patted Brutal's back and gave me a tiny wink, "You won't."

My concerns from earlier slowly faded through the chat we all had for half an hour. I found myself laughing more than I ever had since I was a kid. Never in my 26 years did I find such a family-like group of men! It was great, listening to them tell me stories of all sorts of things and I threw in a few tales of my own. They seemed intrigued by life in New Orleans, but I knew better. They city was like any other: loads of fun, plenty to do, and a fine arrangement of people. But like every other city in the world, it had its dark sides. Drug use was the most common sin taking place in the streets . . . and I admit I've had my fair share of puffs. I was stupid and forced into it by peer pressure, but I still did it nonetheless. I kicked the habit when I got such bad headaches that I could hardly stand. Quitting helped the worst of it, but every now and then the throbbing torture would return to remind me never to smoke again.

There was also a bit of gang activity there, too. The only run-in I had with that was when I was almost kidnapped by two gang members. I don't know what they would've done if they hadn't found me on another gang's territory. The trespassers were seen roughing me up by the area's gang and they got in a huge fight, not over hurting me but over turf. In all the confusion I escaped unnoticed with nothing more than a bruise on my face where the one hit me after I spat in his face. After that ordeal, I started going to church regularly—it's funny what you think of while the lowlife of the city tries to rough you around. God and I have had a close relationship ever since.

I didn't tell Brutal, Paul, Dean, and Harry any of that, though. What they didn't know about me won't hurt them, you know? On the other hand, I learned a lot about my colleges. Harry had a beautiful family consisting of a wife of 30-something years and three daughters, one with her own child on the way. Paul's four boys were all grown, leaving him and his wife Jan. I always liked Jan since I was little; she was a nice lady, always happy. Dean had just started working on E Block a year ago to keep an income for his wife and two kids. Brutal was the only bachelor of the men. After being the hero of his high school football team, he had hoped to get into the big times in college, but his grades didn't allow it. He opted for law enforcement instead and landed here.

We were able to chat some more before Percy burst back on the block, a foul look on his face, "The damned secretary says she got no clue what I'm talkin' 'bout!"

Harry spoke calmly back, I began to respect him for that ability, "Percy, we need that in our reports…"

Percy wasn't having any of it, "You guys did that just to make a fool of me in front of a pretty broad! You just want to get inside her head before she gets to know—"

Brutal sharply interrupted him, "You don't need us to make a fool of yourself, you do it just fine alone."

"We still need that report done," Paul told him before he could throw an insult at Brutal, "whether you throw a tantrum or not. Now are gonna go finish it or do I have to go down there myself?"

"You do it," Percy spat at his boss, "and let me properly introduce myself to 'lil Miz Blake."

"For goodness sake," I sighed, tired of the shouting and fighting. I pushed my way through the men to the door out the Mile, "If it's such an issue, I'll do it myself. No need to throw a hissy fit."

I paused before I left for any objections. When none came, I calmly left E Block without a backwards glance.

.:oOo:.

I was ready for the blow-up.

"How is that fair, Paul?" Percy shouted at me, "You just tryin' to make me miserable in this hell-hole? She was _totally_ checkin' me out before you sent me to the office! You can't fool me, you did that on purpose!"

"Percy, you did that yourself. Hell, you were mentally undressing her the moment she walked in!" I snapped at him. I could feel my fuse grow shorter and shorter by the second.

"What if I was, huh? What are ya gonna do 'bout it?"

"Were you not listening when she first came in? Oh, that's right," Brutal scoffed, "you were too busy tryin' to look down her shirt. Anyway, she's _Warden Moores's_ _niece_. We can't do anything, but if word reaches him that you sexually harassed Payton Blake, you can kiss your job goodbye. And I'm sure Hal would give you a piece of his mind along with your resignation demand. Not even your dear auntie would be able to save you then."

Percy opened his mouth to rebuke. _ No, I'm done with this. Get him off the Mile! He's poison in our drinking water, that storm cloud that always lingers over your head, "_Percy, please get off the Mile. Go clean Old Sparky or something, just do something not here."

He shouted a lot of insults I didn't care enough to hear. So he couldn't follow me to continue our argument, I marched into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me. I heard him curse a few more times, but eventually he gave in and retreated to the execution room.

I left the bathroom to a quiet block. Brutal, Dean, and Harry looked like they haven't slept in a while; Percy had that effect on people, "Leave it to him to ruin that girl's fist day at the job," I mumbled and rubbed the back of my neck.

Dean looked concerned all of a sudden, "Paul, you really approve of her working here?"

Brutal and I raised our eyebrow at him. It wasn't like Dean to say something like that.

Seeing our looks, he elaborated, "I mean, a woman shouldn't work at a prison. She seems like a nice girl and all, but it only takes one time for someone to get ahold of her and…"

He trailed off. He didn't have to finish for us to get the picture.

Harry decided to add his input, too, "A polite, gentle woman will see things here that will change her for life. I imagine she'll see an execution if she's working on death row. She might not be able to handle it. She does seem like a nice girl, but a nice girl wouldn't last long here."

Brutal shook his head respectfully, "All valid points, but did you see her hands and arms? She's got scars… defense wounds. She's been through her fair share of situations and come out alive."

We were all quiet for a moment. I hadn't noticed the scars at all… and Brutal wasn't much of the observant type. Well, I hadn't thought so.

"I know Hal Moores," I stated slowly, "and he wouldn't let his only niece—one he loves dearly—enter any kind of danger without being confident they'd be okay. If he thought she couldn't handle it, he wouldn't have let her set foot in this place. And she knows what she's gettin' into. It's not like we forced her to come or are forcing her to stay. She came here on her own; we can only assume she is aware of the risks. I think we should mind our business and trust her judgment. And if she wants to leave, we won't hold her back. There's no rule saying she has to witness an execution. If she wants to, she can. But if she doesn't want to watch a man die, she doesn't have to."

Brutal was nodding in agreement by the end of my speech. I seemed to satisfy Dean's and Harry's concerns for now because they didn't say anything more. _So that's it, Miss Payton is now working the Green Mile._

.:oOo:.

_I don't see what the big deal is, it's just some paperwork._ I lucked out when I found a bread-crumb trail of signs leading to the office from E Block. If it wasn't for them, I would've gotten lost in the fortress of Cold Mountain Penitentiary.

I went straight to the grandmotherly secretary sitting beyond the tall front desk.

"Percy, I told you to get back on your block before I knocked _your_ block off!" she looked up in frustration and quickly regretting yelling when she saw it was me standing at her desk instead of Percy, "I'm sorry, dear, I thought you were someone else."

I smiled at her, "It's okay, I perfectly understand. I'm actually here to do what he was sent to you for."

She pointed to a manila folder sitting on the edge of her desk. I realized then I had no clue what to do. I looked up at her, a silent plea for help on my face.

She smiled warmly in reply, "What do you need?"

"The cell-arrangements for the new inmate comin' in tomorrow on E Block."

She did a face palm, "_That's _what he was talkin' about! He was goin' on and on about stuff that made no sense! Good that we got a gal workin' here now; something might actually get done _right_."

I laughed, "I'll try, ma'am."

She clicked her tongue, "No need to be so formal, honey. This place will become your family before long," she picked her reading glasses off her desk and put them on, "Now, what can I help you with?"

"I have no clue what to do."

"Alright," she gently opened the folder and gazed over its contents, "You'll probably want to put him in the very last cell, nearest the restraint room. Just check off 'Cell #8' on the list there."

I did as she said. However, curiosity got the better of me, "Why nearest the restraint room?"

She looked up sharply. The kind, joking look in her eyes was gone. I'll admit, it kinda scared me.

"Did you not read his file?"

"I just got here this morning, ma'am," I replied softly. I was scared I did something wrong so quickly. Did this lady have the authority to fire me?

She handed me the folder, "It'll make your blood run hot. A man like that would need to be near the restraint room."

I took it reluctantly, my green eyes never leaving her blue ones. The way her face had changed when she mentioned it, I wasn't sure I wanted to read it. Nonetheless, I opened Harry's report and flipped to the letter that was sent from the place the inmate was being held. It had all the information on him in it, including what he was charged with and the whole police report the officer that had taken him in wrote. The secretary motioned me to sit in a chair. I sat down and started to read all about John Coffey and his crime.

By the end of it, I was crying. The secretary had watched me the whole time I read, watched my face as I frowned, then let my jaw drop, then started sobbing and creating wet splotches on the paper. She got up and patted my shoulder, taking the report away from me.

"I know, I know," she told me reassuringly. I bit the inside of my lip, forcing the few tears to retreat. It didn't take long for me to draw blood, but the pain helped. I wiped my eyes on my jacket sleeve, mentally beating myself for reading the damn papers in public. No one else had seen, but I never liked it when someone saw me cry.

"H-how can a-anyone d-do such a thing?" I asked her, my voice cracking. John Coffey had kidnapped two young girls, raped them, and then murdered them at a river. The girl's father and a search group had found him, screaming and crying and holding the girl's bodies close to his chest. Their blood had stained the stones of the river bed and Coffey's clothes all the same. _Imagine what that father had felt?_

"Some people are just wrong in the head, dear," she let me go after I had composed myself, "Some people in this twisted world are just evil."

**So… did I do a good job? I did take a line from an interview either with the man who played Percy or the author of the book. "Percy's the kind of guy to go to the zoo. Not to look at the assortment of animals but to throw stones at them." I thought it was a really cool line and just HAD to use it. ;) More on John Coffey next chapter, I promise.**


	4. The Inmates

**I want to apologize for not coming on fanfiction for months now. There have been some things going on. But I'm here now, right? XD I know this chapter seems short, but I originally had this one be the same chapter as the next one, and that was just a little too long for my taste. So I split them up. Please enjoy! **

When I finally composed myself, I came back to E Block only to find it empty except for the inmates.

"They went to lunch, mademoiselle," one of them told me in a heavy French/Cajun accent.

"Really?" I asked, shocked, "Shouldn't someone be here regardless?"

I made my way down the cells to the inmate who had spoken. He was a wiry little guy with a balding head and hazel eyes. He seemed much too well-mannered to be on Death Row, "Well, bosses Paul and Dean and Brutal should be back soon for de next shift. Is that your shift too, miss Blake?"

I smiled politely back at him, "I work all day five days a week, the same hours as my uncle so he can drive me to and fro. I kinda fill in the hours that are missing for the other guys, too. Mondays Hal said I could go home after lunch, though."

"So then today you're—," he looked up to the ceiling in thought, "—wait, what day is it?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but the other inmate grumbled "Thursday" before I got the chance. I turned around to him; he was lying on his cot, staring absent-mindedly to the ceiling. He was obviously of Native American descent and had a deep, soft voice. I then realized that this was the first time he spoke since I arrived.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I've introduced myself to everyone but you two. I'm Payton Blake, Hal Moores's—"

"Niece," the Native American cut me off sharply, "We heard you before. We're not deaf."

I was taken aback by his tone. What'd I do to make him angry? "I don't believe I caught your name."

He huffed in response.

"What was that?"

"Bitterbuck," he shot.

"You got the 'bitter' part right," I mumbled back to him, "A pleasure to meet you."

He didn't reply. Instead, he focused again on that point out in space on the ceiling. He was a thoughtful man, one of few words. I was about to try reconcile when the other man spoke up.

"I am Eduard Delacroix, but de bosses call me Del. You can, too, if you'd like."

I couldn't help but smile at him. He was a friendly little guy, "Alright then, Del. Anything I should know about E Block?"

"Don' get comfortable," he said without hesitation, "Tings are always changin'. You can't get attached to nothing here. One day I'll be here an' the next . . . I won't."

I didn't quite know how to answer him. I never really thought of it like that. These two men are going to be executed right in front of me. How would I do with that? They'd be rough, regardless, but would I get attached to these men? These murderers? No, I can't. I won't.

Just then, the door coming from outside rattled. I jumped up, but no one came in, "Man, I was hopin' that was the guys." I sighed while I fixed my hair anxiously. I don't know where I got that from, but every time I get nervous, mad, or anything in between, I mess with my hair. "How are they?" I asked Del, "The guys?"

He smiled happily, "Ohh, they be jus' fine fellas. Boss Edgecombe is one of de nicest guys 'round. 'Arry an' Dean are always polite to Arlen and me. And boss Brutal loves to lift de spirits."

"What about Percy?"

Del's entire demeanor changed. His expression turned hard and his voice dark, "No, I don' like Percy Wetmore. He be a spoiled brat who don' care for no one else's feelin's. Only tinkin' 'bout himself and his hair."

"Oh," I said softly, "So it's not just me then."

Del looked me straight in the eye in a comforting kind of way, "Don' worry, he won' lay a hand on you as long de bosses are 'round. They won' let him hurt you. He scared o' dem, anyway."

I couldn't help but laugh. I was on death row, being consoled by one of the inmates. Who would've guessed one of my new friends would turn out to be this guy?

"Nah, I'm not worried 'bout him hurting me. I can hold up on my own. It's just that . . . well . . . I don't know, he's going to get himself hurt or someone else when he messes with the wrong person," I sighed. I really don't care what Percy does, but he is so darn careless!

Just then, Paul, Brutal, and Dean came back on the block to start the next shift. They looked curiously at me standing so close to Del's cell. I didn't realize that I had leaned against the bars while I was chatting away. Not only was that unprofessional, but it was potentially dangerous. I don't know Del. He could've taken me by surprise and strangled me or something. He hadn't. But he could've. I jumped away from the bars a little too late; the guys gave me some humored smiles and continued to stow away their stuff from lunch.

"I got the report done. Mr. Coffey's goin' in cell eight," I told everyone, trying to sound prison-savvy to no prevail.

Paul looked up at me, "Did Beth tell you to put him there?"

I cocked my head to the side in confusion. Was I supposed to know everyone in the prison on the first day here?

Paul sighed at me, "The secretary?"

"Oh! Yeah," I replied, "she's a nice lady."

:oOo:

Hal picked me up from E Block at about 10:30. I watched the moon glint off the barbed wire as we drove out of Cold Mountain Penitentiary. The clouds that had hung around most of the day left, leaving a beautiful night sky. The early summer's heat had given way to cool nights. I watched puffs of dirt kick up into the air as Hal drove down the road.

"So, Payton," he said, breaking the silence, "How was your first day?"

"Interesting," I gave a quick grin, "But in a good way."

He offered a small, automatic smile back. He looked tired. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Seeing the moon and the stars puts one in a serene kind of mood.

"Hey, uncle Hal?"

"Yes Payton?"

"I love you."

He looked up suddenly from the road and right into my face. This time when he smiled, it was a real one, "I love you, too, sweetheart."


	5. Bandaged and Blushing

**Here we go; John Coffey makes his first appearance! Now the story will start to pick up. As the result from my dear friend Collene, the romance will be starting earlier than I had planned. Thank her for requesting it. XD Please enjoy and feel free to critique my work… Lord knows I need it! ;)**

_I'm going to die._ I sat in a chair, fanning myself with purely hot air. My officer's jacket and my own personal stockings were hanging up wherever I put them. It was too hot to remember precisely where at the moment. Sweat glistened in the light on Brutal's and Dean's faces, although they didn't seem to mind it. _Men_. My shirt was undone a button lower than usual and I was about to rip the sleeves clean off. I wasn't made for this kind of heat.

"Why the hell do they have jackets in the dress code? It's not like we're freezing to death," I groaned, giving up on the fanning.

"Who are you to talk?" Brutal gave me a funny look, "At least you have a skirt with _some_ ventilation and fresh air blowin' through. We men wear _pants_."

I heard Dean laugh from the office. Brutal joined in, and I rolled my eyes. I don't play in the heat. When I sweat, nothing is funny anymore. I agitatedly put my hair in a very messy bun—I never could get them right. But my ears let go of their hot air regardless, and I felt a little better, "When are they supposed to get back?"

Brutal checked his pocket watch. He really liked that thing, when he wasn't doing anything he'd wipe it off with his handkerchief until he deemed it spotless. It was a pretty watch, painted gold with black engravings on the cover. It seemed pretty old and full of class, "Any time now."

Dean came out of the office, "Might as well get the cell ready."

Brutal and I watched him from the desk. He meandered down to cell eight and unlocked it. I was almost startled by the loud clank the lock made. A rusty, grinding sound came as he pushed the sliding bars back. Just then, the phone rang and Brutal jumped to answer it, "E block. Yeah. Right."

I watched as he made his way to the windows facing the courtyard. He looked out and watched a black van make its way through the walls of the prison. Then he turned to me, "Are you ready for your first new inmate?"

"Please," I leaned back in my chair, "I was born ready."

But the truth was that I was scared stiff. Mr. Coffey is a mean guy. Will he come in here and start a riot? Lord only knows what he'd do if he got his hands on one of the guys or me. That's why Paul had ordered me to watch the arrival from the office with the blinds drawn. I wouldn't be surprised, though, if Hal ordered him to order me. My uncle isn't a gambler, and I'm not sure I blame him in a place like this.

"Come on, Paul. Inmate's here," Brutal called to him from the window.

I looked around the block, puzzled, "Where is he?"

"The head," Brutal told me as he walked around the desk and tapped gently on the bathroom door.

"Still?" I wondered aloud. He's been in there for at least 15 minutes.

"Christ, give me a minute!" Paul snapped back.

Brutal's head bobbed and he turned around to Dean, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. I was about to assume Paul just took and annoyingly long time in the bathroom when a pained groan came from under the door.

"You alright in there?" Brutal asked the door.

"For a man pissin' razorblades, yeah," it replied, gasping.

I turned up to Dean, wide-eyed, "What's wrong with him?"

"Figure he's got an infection or somethin'," he replied, "and he's too dog-gone stubborn to go to the doctor and get checked out."

Paul sighed painfully again. I instantly became worried about him. It seemed like everyone is either sick or tired. First Melinda, now Paul? I couldn't help but wonder who would be next.

Seeing there was nothing he could do, Brutal stepped back and waited for his boss to emerge from the lavatory. A few seconds later, Paul came out, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. Brutal shook his head, wearing a sarcastic half-smile that looked good on him. I blushed. Paul gave him a very agitated glare. Him and Brutal must be best friends, I thought to myself. They tease and joke around with each other all the time. The 'Dynamic Duo'. Dean was the pet of the group; the one everyone liked and watched over. Sort of the little brother of the family. Harry fits the part of the quiet, wise uncle who gets respect from everyone he meets. And Percy's . . . well . . . Percy. I couldn't help but wonder who I'd eventually be?

"You should've taken the day off. Gone and seen the doctor," Brutal told Paul gently.

"With a new arrival?" Paul made a face, "You know better." He patted his forehead with the hankie again. This time, his voice took a false, optimistic tone, "Besides, it's not as bad as it was. I think it's clearin' up."

_That whole scene is better than it was? I would've hated to see how it used to be._

Paul finished the conversation by putting on his hat, "Alright, let's look alive. Payton, before he comes in here I want you in that office with the door locked. Understood?"

I gave him a "yes sir" and proceeded to retrieve my stockings and jacket from the bars on cell three. The last thing I'd want is for someone to notice them while marching a prisoner down the row. I put my stockings in my pocket so I wouldn't forget them and threw my jacket over a chair at the desk.

A honk from outside signaled everyone to get into their positions. Dean and Brutal went towards the door leading outside and Paul made his way down to cell eight. I realized that during the whole thing, Mr. Bitterbuck and Del were silent. I couldn't help but wonder if they were remembering the day they arrived at Cold Mountain Penitentiary.

Out of curiosity, I went up to the window next to Brutal.

"Darn, they're ridin' on the axle. What'd they do, bust the springs?" Brutal mused. I didn't know what to tell him since I knew close to nothing about cars. But let me tell you one thing, when Percy and Harry led Mr. Coffey out of the truck, that thing sprung up and bounced a few times. Nowhere in John Coffey's record did it say he was seven feet tall and 300 pounds! Brutal and I exchanged a look of uncertainty. This was going to be interesting.

I ran to the office, slammed the door shut, and locked it just like Paul had instructed. Although, I couldn't help but notice that one pane of glass wouldn't stop King Kong from getting in. After I pushed the butterflies back into my stomach, I peeked through the shades and out into the Mile. A steady chain of 'dead man! Dead man walking!' echoed off the walls. Why on Earth would anyone shout that? It's a wonder the prisoner didn't knock Percy out.

"Paul," Brutal said softly, "You might want to reconsider getting in a cell with this guy. He's _enormous_."

Paul gave a sarcastic smile in reply, "He can't be any bigger than you."

He didn't know the half of it. Brutal exchanged looks with Dean and chuckled an airy, little laugh. He knew Paul had no idea what was about to come walking through the door. Brutal unlocked it and held it open for the sorry crew to come in. Percy was acting like a town crier, shouting "Dead man!" nonstop. When they were riding through town, did he yell, "Dead man riding! We got a dead man riding in here!"?

John Coffey stepped onto the Mile for the first time. His shoulder was equal with Brutal's head. Seeing as Brutal's shoulder was equal with _my_ head, this guy was tall. He was wearing muddy overalls, which were too small for him, over a very old white shirt. Percy led him like a horse down the Mile while Harry brought up the rear. John didn't look the least bit mean. He looked scared more than anything; his expression reminded me of a small child's on the first day of school. I became curious about him right away. Let me tell you one thing, he was a sight to see.

As soon as they passed Bitterbuck's cell, I couldn't see them anymore. I felt the urge to go out there crash down on me._ No, Payton. You've been ordered to stay in this office, and dammit that's what you're going to do!_ There was a pause in my mind after my conscious spoke before the little devil on my shoulder laughed. _Ha ha ha! Yeah right._

I put my hand on the door knob.

_No! _My conscious shouted at me. _Curiosity killed the cat!_

I sighed and backed away from the door, "You're right," I told myself. There was another perfect pause before the bad voice said: _Good thing you're not a cat._

I felt myself make a sinister grin. Hey, you had to admit . . . that was a good point. I cautiously opened the door and popped my head out. Brutal and Dean didn't notice me sneak over and get a good view.

"Dead man! Dead man walkin'! We got a dead man walkin' here!"

"Percy!" Paul's voice rang with authority, "That's enough."

The gang continued to make its way down the cells. Dean and Brutal flanked Harry; I decided not to join them since I was pushing my luck, anyway. And for the fact that I was scared. It was a tense few minutes—waiting for the inmate to make a run for it. He would have no problem knocking everyone down . . . and I'll admit that I wouldn't stand between him and the door to freedom. Brave, aren't I?

I couldn't help but admire how calm Paul sounded when he inquired, "Am I gonna have any trouble with you, big boy?" When he got no reply, he asked, "Can you talk?"

John Coffey answered in a low, rich voice that sounded like rain water running down a gutter, "Yes sir, boss. I can talk."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up at his mannerisms, and my curiosity for him grew. Paul walked into cell eight. I could see that John was unsure of what to do. It looked like the boss wanted him to go into the cell, but no one had told him to or said he could.

Out of nowhere, Percy hit him on the chest with his nightstick, "Move your ass."

_What the hell? Is Percy insane? That guy could crush him like an ant, doesn't he realize that?_ It was a tense moment, waiting to see what John would do to him. _Percy's getting punched out._

John looked back at Paul, then bent over and entered his cell. I instantly gave John a lot of credit for his patience. I knew I shouldn't, but I respected that he didn't kill Percy. I would've at least yelled in his face, but John did as he was told without a hitch.

Paul must've been thinking the same things I had, because he seemed relieved when John joined him in the cell. He knew that he shouldn't push his luck because he said gently, "Percy, they're moving house down to the infirmary. Would you go and see if they could use some help?"

Percy twirled his nightstick and shook his head, "Nah, they got all the men they need."

"Why don't you go and make sure?"

Percy shook his head like a mule, "Nuh-uh."

But Paul wasn't going to have any of it, "I don't care where you go, Percy, just so long as it's not here at this very moment."

I couldn't see Percy's face because his back was turned to me, but I could tell he made a face at Paul by the way his head moved. He turned around with an attitude right into Brutal's chest. A look was exchanged between them. I can only describe it as a warning from Brutal for Percy to watch himself. I couldn't help but notice all the different expressions Brutal made. He communicated with body language more than words, like me to an extent. Percy didn't react the way Brutal wanted him to, but he began to run his hands through his hair anxiously. Del had been right yesterday; Percy was afraid of them. Not to be shown up, though, Percy strutted down the cells. Del was leant up against the bars of his, laughing softly. No one saw it coming.

Percy smacked Del's hand with the nightstick. The hollow, sharp clank of the stick on the bars was accompanied with a sickly _crack._ I wanted to throw up; there's no worse sound made by the human body than bones snapping. There was a moment of still silence, like the ones right before a car crash or the knockout punch of a boxing match, before Del cried out and sank to the floor. He held his hand gingerly, crying, "You busted my finger!"

"Wiped that grin off your face, didn't I?" Percy shouted at the crumpled heap of Del.

"Percy, are you _insane?_" I shouted. I couldn't keep silent, what compelled him to do that? Talk about immature! Del was just laughing at him, no need to go maniac on us! Hurt your pride, but don't hurt others!

I rushed up to Del's cell. Percy must've thought I was going to hit him by the way he flinched, but instead I knelt beside Del. Paul went on to yell at him, but I didn't hear what was said. I was too focused on Del's distorted hand. I spat on Percy's shoes before I began to comfort Del, who was whimpering like a hurt dog. I heard him mumble, "_Vas te faire encule_, Percy." But I had no clue what that meant, so I went on talking to him.

"It's okay, Del. Let me see, I'll wrap your hand up for now until we get you to the infirmary."

Del's eyes were running as he slipped his stubby hand through the bars. My mind went back to when I was a little girl and I helped my neighbors fix their dog's leg, which was run over by some teenager on a bike. I held his hand tenderly and searched for something to act as a bandage. Then, in a spark of luck, I remembered my stockings and pulled them out of my pocket.

Through his pain, Del managed to laugh, "Really? You gonna fix me up with your pantyhose?"

I laughed with him, good to know he still had a sense of humor, "They're not dirty, if that's what you mean."

Telling by how they stuck out at weird angles, the middle three fingers were broken. Moving as slowly as I could, I wrapped them with the nylons. Del whined every time I tightened it, but he never objected. The stretchy fabric worked well as a bandage, keeping the fingers still and pretty well padded. I continued to wrap until I ran out of stocking. Del's hand looked like it had a tan, oversized marshmallow stuck to it, but it worked. Del nodded and smiled a sweet grin at me.

"_Merci_, Miss Blake," he said softly, pulling his hand out of mine and carefully back into his cell.

"_No problemo_," I replied, "Oh wait . . . that's Spanish."

I looked back up to find Brutal watching me with that half-smile on his lips. I glared sarcastically in return, but felt myself blush. He gave a single, silent laugh and extended his hand to help me up. I took it carefully. I noticed it was just as calloused as mine from work. My hand was much thinner than his, but they fit together well. He didn't bother to warn me before he launched me up into the air and back on my feet. I mouthed the words 'show off' to him, after which he shrugged and turned back to Paul and John. Now, it might've just been a play of the light, but I swore I saw a faint, red glow on his cheeks. I'd made him blush.

"My name's Paul Edgecombe. If I'm not here, you can ask for Mr. Tewilliger, Mr. Stanton, Mr. Howell, or Ms. Blake, the folks right there."

John looked out to us. Dean gave a good-natured wave, and I tried to smile. He nodded to us and Paul asked if he had any questions. What he said next increased my curiosity for him tenfold.

"Do you leave the light on after bedtime?" We all looked up to him, befuddled, "'Cause I get a little scared of the dark sometimes . . . if it's a strange place."

Paul looked out to us in surprise. I was covering my face, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

"It's pretty bright here all night long. We always keep a few lights burnin' out in the corridor."

"The . . . corridor?" John asked meekly, testing the word. He didn't understand it.

"Right out there," Paul replied, nodding in the direction of the desk. John looked out there curiously. Seeming satisfied, what happened next was yet another shock.

John held his hand out to Paul. Everyone tensed, ready for him to hit Paul. But he just held out his hand, waiting for Paul to shake it. Dean grabbed his nightstick—unlike Percy, he'd only use it if he had to, but no one was taking chances. Paul looked at John's hand. Brutal put his hand on his holster, and Harry got the shackles ready. I kinda felt out of place, but I still marveled at how the three would wait until Paul gave the word to take action. The word never came. He gave the slightest shake of the head, maybe out of disbelief, maybe a signal to the guys to ease up. Whichever, Paul cautiously took John's hand. The size comparison by itself was amazing. Paul's hand looked like a child's compared to John's. They shook cordially, then let go. Everyone exhaled the breaths they've been holding, myself included. Paul gave him a nod, and then walked out of the cell. John didn't try to follow. Upon Paul's request, he sat down on his cot. The springs creaked dangerously under the weight. John was sweating, although I wasn't sure if it was from the heat or the fact that he was scared.

He swallowed a few times. It looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he should. He opened his mouth, and his deep voice rumbled, "I couldn't help it, boss. I tried to take it back, but it was too late."


	6. Just a Friday

**I can't thank you all enough for your patience and reviews. Really, they are what motivate me. I haven't been on fanfiction to reply to the newer reviews, but I appreciate them so much. I was expecting this chapter to be with the next, but it would've been too long, so I broke it up. This one has a LOT of strong language, just so you're warned. I'm sorry for such a crappy author's note, but I really need to get to bed ;) -Zeb3**

"Dean, pull Del's card and take him down to the infirmary. Go and check if those fingers are broken. Take Payton eith you, let her see where it is," Paul instructed, leading all of us into the block's office.

Dean gave a quiet 'yes sir' and walked over to the office's filing cabinet.

"Ofcourse they're broken," Brutal grumbled, "I heard the damned bones crack." He took a load off in the chair by the corner and gave me that smile, "Well, Dr. Payton, were the fingers broken?"

I glared playfully at him, "My professional diagnosis is yes. Percy hit him awful hard."

At the filing cabinet, Dean chuckled softly, "I give Del a lot of credit for letting Payton use her _stockings_ to wrap him up."

I glared playfully at him this time, "What's that supposed to mean, ?"

He looked up from the files, "I'm just joshin' you, Pay. That was pretty quick thinkin', if you ask me. I'm sure Del appreciates it."

I shrugged as I blotted the sweat from my brow. The temperature seemed to get worse the more people talked.

Paul looked up from his seat behind the desk at me, "You kneeled beside a man on Death Row and mended his hand the second day of the job. Just about no woman I know, and very few men for that matter, would've done that."

I smiled widely at his praise, one which he didn't return. My mouth fell slowly. His tone sharpened the next time he spoke, "That was very foolish and dangerous. You do something like that again, and I'll transfer you outta Cold Mountian. Are you listening? We can't risk it."

My face dropped even more into confusion. I hadn't been expecting that. I help a man who's in pain, and my boss threatens to fire me? My tone turns hard to match his, "Risk what?"

"Your life," Paul said simply. He looked me dead in the eye, and I looked back. I was good at stare-downs. The room became quiet as we held it for five, then ten seconds. Paul didn't faulter in the slightest, and he was my boss after all. I decided to break it off before he really did fire me.

"Sorry, boss. Won't happen again."

He nodded at me in a truce kind of way. His last look was stern, but not unkind. My expression remained hard.

In an attempt to build conversation back up, Harry asked, "Did you hear what Percy was yellin'when we brought the big dummy in?"

"How could I miss it, Harry?" Paul sighed, "The whole prison heard."

I shook my head, "It's a wonder why John didn't punch him out."

"Speaking of that, "Paul blotted his face with a handkerchief, "I want to hear about this new inmate, aside from how big he is."

"Monstrous big. Damn!" Brutal laughed, just to get on Paul's nerves.

"You're one to talk," I muttered under my breath. Brutal heard me though, because this time he glared playfully at me. I gave him my version of his half-smile he usually gives me, and he turned away…

"Aw, he seems meek enough," Dean looked up from the files again, "Is he retarded you figure?"

I flinched at the word. I hated that. I wouldn't go so far as to call John Coffey retarded. At my graduation, I sat and walked next to a disabled boy. He was one of the most polite boys you'd ever meet, but no one cared enough to talk to him. No, John Coffey didn't seem retarded to me. He just . . . thinks like a child. An innocent little kid in a huge guy's body. Nonetheless, I held my tongue.

Dean pulled a file out of the cabinet and handed it to me, "Let's go and get Del."

I was following him out the door when Paul called him back into the office.

"Yes sir?" Dean inquired cordially. I respected the fact that he always had his manners about him.

"Go around the long way," Paul ordered, with a pointed glance in my general direction. Dean nodded and left the office again. I trailed after him to a locker with handcuffs and shotguns in it. He chose wrist and ankle shackles and went down to Del's cell. The heavy door slid with a rusty whine that hurt my ears. I held the folder and watched as Dean shackled Del's hands and ankles, taking care around his left wrist. The two came out and led the way past the execution room and down the hall. I jogged to catch up to them, but not before I waved in the office to Paul. He didn't wave back.

I didn't realize I'd sighed when I caught up to Dean and Del.

"I'm sorry you got in trouble, miz Blake."

I looked up at Del, almost surprised. His eyebrows were pulled together in a troubled kind of way as he watched his feet shuffle in the shackles. Why was he so concerned about me getting into trouble? Well, whatever the reason, I felt myself liking him a little more. It was nice to have someone think of me, let alone being concerned for me.

"Hey," I cooed like a mother would to her child. When he didn't look up, I carefully placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and waited for his reaction. After a moment, he lifted his eyes to me. I smiled, trying to reassure him, "It's okay. I'd like to hear Paul's grounds on getting rid of me, but I'll have no regrets if he does. I was helping someone who was hurt."

He seemed to perk up a little after that. But Dean remained quiet. I dismissed it as we made our way to the infirmary. The reason for why Paul ordered us to go the long way dawned on me about halfway there. We were skirting past all the blocks. He apparently hadn't wanted me to meet any more prisoners than I had to. I guess Paul doesn't have that much faith in me.

We passed plenty of officers, some having lunch, others walking hurriedly and carrying files. Each and every one of them did a double-take at my trio. Judging by their expressions, most of them were confused or angry. I could feel my fuse get shorter and shorter the more people who looked my way. I did my best to ignore them, but a few did their best to catch my attention. I halted and spun on my heel when one of them shouted, "Go home where you belong! Now one more man is jobless because of you! Does your husband do the cleaning and the cooking?"

I pointed right at his face, teeth bared, ready for a fight. I also got the folder I carried ready to use as a weapon, "You don't know me! Sorry if I'm a widow who has to feed her seven children! Would you rather me sell them to a damned CIRCUS?" When he opened his mouth to reply, I spat across the eight feet that kept us apart and right into his face. Did I mention I won a spitting contest at one of our county fairs as a child?

I didn't even look at him as I spun back around and tugged the stunned Dean and Del back down the path we had been travelling. I heard the man send me to hell about five times before we were far enough away that he stopped cursing me. My blood was running so hot that my legs felt like they were going to give out. My face was red, too. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. I was so enraged that I almost didn't hear Del.

He looked to me, horrified, with his French accent raised an octave, "Miz Blake! You got seven kids?"

If I wasn't so furious, I would've laughed. Instead, my voice was snappy and rough, "No, Del. I only feed myself."

Dean's voice was low, but feverish and strong when he said, "Don't you _dare_ pay attention to people like that, Payton!"

I looked over to him, grabbed by the emotion in his words.

"Women deserve a chance in life just as much as any man does. Men like him are no-good hypocrites who think the only purposes women serve are to cook, clean, and love. Don't you give him any thought, you hear?"

I nodded, taken aback by his tone. I wouldn't have thought quiet Dean could talk like that, and it only made me appreciate his words even more. We mulled them over in silence, and I respected Dean a lot more than I had in the morning. He earned it. But I was still confused by things. How come the men on the Mile seem okay with me, while everyone else doesn't? Hell, maybe they weren't okay with me. Maybe they just put on a face when I was around because I was Warden Moores's niece, but inside they resent me just as much as that guy back there does. But we all get along so well! What is going on?

I didn't really hear what Dean told the doctors when we arrived at the infirmary. And I didn't hear what the doctor said back. I only watched his face, trying to calculate what he was thinking. He didn't say much, but he did look at me a few times. No resentment, just surprise, then confusion, then interest. Not too bad, I guess. He went through the same emotions when he unraveled Del's hand. Apparently, the broken bones weren't as interesting as what bound them together.

He held my stocking to the light and looked at it like the cashiers at the grocery store do to a ten dollar bill, "What's this-?"

I snatched it out of his hand and the entire infirmary's view. I felt an embarrassed heat come out onto my cheeks as I said, "It's mine."

I shoved it in my officer jacket pocket moodily and withdrew myself from the conversation again. The doctor held his hands up in surrender and went back to tending to Del. Dean and he chatted for a few more minutes before he led me out of the infirmary, leaving Del and the folder I had brought down. Once we were out of the building, Dean turned to me, a solemn look on his face.

"Don't take what Paul said to heart, Payton. He wouldn't fire you for something like that."

"Oh, Dean," I sighed gently and stuffed my hands in my pockets, "I guess I kinda knew that. But what I don't know is why he said that. I mean, what part of helping a man who is hurt warrants a threat of being fired?"

He barked a quick laugh, but it was soft. Everything he said or did was soft, "Girl, I thought that'd be obvious! Del is a prisoner on Death Row. You gotta admit, Pay, getting so close to his cell is foolhardy. What if he got it in him to strangle you or something? Paul just wants you to think before you do something like that again."

At that moment, one of the two guards who passed us gave me a long, low cat call. I sped up my pace away from them.

"Do I belong here, Mr. Stanton?"

"Do you _belong_ here?" Dea repeated. He blew out his mouth in thought; after a few seconds he chuckled to himself, then to me, "No, I suppose you don't. But that's just it! Guys 'round here aren't used to a woman working any place other than her own home or a diner. You're the odd ball."

I looked at him, eyebrows pulled together. He was sincere.

"They think women shouldn't, or even _can't_, work," he went on, "But you're gonna prove 'em wrong."

I saw the solemnness in his expression and heard it in his voice. He was right. I was gonna prove them all wrong. If us women can have and raise kids, we can do anything! I wore a half grin for the rest of the walk back to E Block. We didn't any more, but I was okay with that. It wasn't awkward, quite peaceful really. He reminded me of Uncle Hal in that way.

.:oOo:.

Speaking of Uncle Hal, he had a surprise waiting for me at his truck when my shift was over.

"Pay day!" he said with a smile and an envelope with my name on it in his hand.

"Thank God it's Friday!" I shouted to the sky, fists in the air, grinning from ear to ear, "I did it. I held down a job for a whole _week_."

His airy, soft laugh rang out as he handed me my envelope, which I gave a loud kiss.

"The money is mine! All MINE!"

Hal snorted and shook his head, "Are you going to do this every week?"

I opened the envelope and took a deep sniff, "Yup."

After a few seconds more, he snatched the dough out of my hands, "Get in the truck, you're embarrassing me."

I continued the celebration all the way to his house. As soon as we pulled up, I shot out the truck, bent on showing Aunt Melinda my new best friend. I burst into the house, "Melinda? Melinda, guess what!" I checked the kitchen, then the dining room, but she wasn't there. "Aunt Melinda?" A bad feeling crept up my back. I could actually feel it clamp down on each wertebrate, until the sound of rusted chains squeaking out on the porch reached my ears.

"Melinda!"

I ran out to the back porch, expecting to see my aunt swinging, pensive and thoughtful as she always was. That's not what I got. She did sit on the swing. But she glared at me with foggy, dark blue eyes. Her expression showed rage, a fury deep within her bursting at the seams. If looks could kill, I'd've died a thousand deaths. The glinting eyes seemed to sink further into her head each day; her sallow, unhealthy skin stretched across her skull. Her hairline had begun to recede, making her widows peak seem extreme. She seemed possessed. Her eyes clouded over in a way that made the 'bad feeling' turn to panic. Each beat of my heart rattled my bones, threatening to make them collapse. Her eyes bore into me with such a rage I felt like I was turning into mist. She was willing me to evaporate on the spot.

I expected her voice to be a hoarse whisper, but when she opened her lipless mouth, a rasp as cold and sharp as a dagger pierced my heart, "Are YOU the girl who has been spending so much time with MY Hal? Are YOU the one who has taken him away from me? Even while I am sick? The one he speaks of every moment he breathes?"

I felt my eyes widen, my legs shaking. My voice was a squeak you'd expect to hear from a mouse, "No! Melinda, it's Payt—"

"You WHORE!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, "You slutty BITCH! How _dare_ you—"

At that moment, Hal ran up beside me. I heard him whisper 'oh no' before she went on another rampage.

"YOU!" she pointed a bony finger at her husband, "How dare YOU for finding another woman! I'm not dead yet, you—"

She had become so enraged, she couldn't talk right. Her insane language came out as shrieked gibberish punctuated with spit and screams. Her limbs thrashed madly on the porch. Her face turned to the color of a plum. Her eyes had seemed to turn black, the veins in her neck popped. She sreamed and wailed like a banshee. She was possessed. Some demon had taken her and turned her into a demon, too. This red, INSANE creature could never come from this earth.

_What happened? What happened to my lovely aunt who taught me to cook aand garden and clean? What happened to the beautiful Melinda Moores who was always the hostess with the mostest? Who was always so elegant, kind, gentle, and quiet? Because she was not this creature of ugliness and curses who sat on the porch swing. She never cursed or shouted or spit like that. That thing might be Melinda Moores, but it is NOT my aunt._

Hal was patting my face gently. He had led me to the front yard and was trying to comfort me. It took me awhile to realize I was hyperventilating and shaking something therrible. I could still hear her screaming from the back porch.

"She's having a bad day, Payton." He said it so vunerably. I saw a tear make its way down his wrinkled cheek, "It happens every now and then. The doctor says she doesn't kniw what she's saying. Like the tumor takes over her or something. It possesses her and makes her talk like a sailor. When she yells herself out, she'll fall asleep. And when she wakes up, she'll be fine and won't remember a second of it. Which is more than you can say for us, but still."

I managed to calm myself. I took the sleeve of my officer jacket and oh-so tenderly wiped the lone tear from his sad face. He looked at my hand, then my arm, then my face. His hazel eyes were so full of sorrow. And now, I understood why. His wife was half gone. Half dead, in a way. The tumor in her brain left a hole in my aunt which filled itself with anger and hate. My Melinda was only around half the time, all the other times it was this . . . creature. Now I understood why Hal's eyelids drooped the way they did, the way his shoulders were always hunched over, the way his voice was always serious and solemn. Why his eyes were always bloodshot. He was tired. He'd never abandon his wife, for better or for worse, for as long as they both shall live. And it was taking a deadly toll on the both of them.

"You can't blame her for it, Payton," he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, a classic uncle Hal move,

"She doesn't mean it."

The screams from the back porch ceased, as if to prove his point.

Not knowing what else to do, I took his wrinkled hand in my small one, "I don't."

He looked down at me with such emotion. A steady stream of tears fell down his cheeks and landed on the dried up grass. I felt a few hot, fat tears make their way down my cheeks, too. I gazed back up at him, telling him a message only he would understand.

He broke out of our look and sniffed loudly, "Why don't you go out to Vicksburg and pick up a nice dress for church on Sunday? People want to make your acquaintance again after all this time."

I knew a dismissal when I saw one. But I was reluctant to leave him. Why should he go through this alone?

"What about you?"

He cracked what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, she's asleep now. She'll be fine when she wakes up."

I didn't budge.

"Here," he said as he reached in his pocket and gave me his truck keys, "Take Nellybelle and and your paycheck to Vicksburg. That place always gives a good time."

I looked cautiously up to the house, then back to him. His eyes pleaded me to go. Reluctantly, I took the keys.

He gently patted my back, "See you later, pumpkin."

_If only he knew what waited for me in Vicksburg . . ._


	7. Her Savior

**Hi everyone. I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to your reviews, but honestly, they are what keep me going. You have no clue how I happy I get when someone has reviewed this. XD Even if it's a flame, please feel free to speak your mind. And thank you to everyone who has, you all = awesome!**

**I hope you guys like this chapter, I worked really hard on it. ;) Please tell me what you think; this is the first time I've written stuff like this. Well, I'll stop with the annoying author's note… please enjoy Her Savior.**

I paid the cashier five dollars and left the shop with a smile. It felt good to spend your own money. The eggplant-colored sundress, with its lace and rich color, reminded me of something Aunt Melinda would wear. Classy, yet casual and comfortable, it was perfect for church on Sunday. When I stepped outside in the warm southern air, I was surprised to see the sun had already set. The sky appeared purple with trace lines of orange on the horizon. It was beautiful, but I hadn't thought I'd been in the store that long. Apparently, shopping for the first time in a few months let the time get away from me.

I set off through the busy streets of Vicksburg. A few streets over was the Boulevard. I could hear the big-band music, laughter, and car horns from here. It was like a much smaller New Orleans, minus guys giving you beads on Mardi Gra. I had parked Uncle Hal's truck on the outskirts of town, which seemed reasonable in the daylight. But now that night had fallen, the streets and alleys reminded me all too much of the night I got the hardly visible scar right under my hairline. _Oh get over it, _I told myself,_ no point in getting all paranoid._

I set off at a speed walk through the city. I passed all sorts of stores I was tempted to go into, but I remembered my paycheck wasn't _that_ big. It took some willpower to go past a jewelry store with the most gorgeous choker in the window, but I kept going with a sigh. After a few blocks, the buildings turned from stores to residential apartment buildings. The less people I passed in the streets, the more a bump pushed its way up my throat. I grew angry with myself at how dramatic and paranoid I was being. I tried to swallow the bump, but it didn't go away. I began to imagine eyes staring out at me from the shadows. I couldn't help but feel so childish, with imaginary monsters tormenting me from the darkness. Still, I kept an eye on everyone I passed, but of course nothing happened. I even went by a group of guys passing around a pipe, but I came out of the smoke with nothing more than a headache.

The buildings began to thin out, and I finally reached the baseball field I parked across. A single streetlight over the field gave me enough visibility to avoid getting too much yellow dust from the baseball diamond on my black work shoes. But that light played tricks on my eyes. A few times I thought I saw someone in the bed of the truck, peeping out at me through the wooden slats. I dismissed it as paranoia. I also dismissed the feeling that built up in my throat with every step I took nearer the truck. It was swelling, making my eyes water. I shouted at myself inside my mind to stop this, but butterflies made me shake with apprehension. The closer I got to the black Ford, the less it felt like my safe haven. When I reached it, I didn't move to open the door. My heart thrummed steadily, trying to steady the rest of me. I stood still and listened. Crickets and cicadas were going crazy, their noise grated against my nerves. I was afraid of turning around, so I simply checked the reflection in the window. Nothing but an empty field. I took a deep breath, cursing myself for acting like this. _Of course there's no one there. Maybe you should go see a physiologist—_

Thinking those thoughts, I took the keys out of my pocket and jammed them in the door handle.

That must've been their signal.

In one moment I was trying to think of where I could find a shrink, and the next I am shoved up against the truck with such force that imaginary fireflies danced and blinked in my eyes. A strong hand pushed my neck against the cool glass, keeping me pinned.

"Well I'll be damned! Who woulda thought such a sweetheart would have such a nice ride?"

My assailant's voice cracked in my ears, the thin rasp swirled around in my mind that was still a little foggy from the shock.

Another voice, this one not as deep as the last, laughed in a maniacal way that shot me back to my senses, "Two for one, the truck and her inside it!"

They laugh. A thick haze of alcohol makes my eyes run. My heart pounds against the metal of the truck, but I wasn't panicking. For some reason my thoughts were clear. Last time I was in this situation, I was a damsel in distress. I had cringed against the brick wall, praying for a way out. And He had answered it. This time I may not be so lucky. I'm taking my life in both hands. I was gonna prove them wrong, 'cause this time . . . I'm fighting.

I could feel the one man's body pinning me to the truck, and I thought back to the days at our neighbor's horse farm. With all the momentum I could manage pinned down, I brought my leg forward, and then thrust it back in a horse-style kick. Too bad my aim was off.

"Whoa there, doll!" the man holding me shouted in my ear. Then he yanked my hair back with a rough jerk. I began to scream in pain, but before I could open my mouth, he slammed my head back into the truck so hard that it rocked. I blacked out for a moment as the white pain blinded me. I could feel the cold, unforgiving glass and metal against my face. And I could feel him, sweaty and smelly, wrap my regrettably long, dark hair around his hand. But I couldn't see. My mind spun, and I began to panic. _Am I going blind? Did he kill me?_ After a moment, the fireflies blinked again, and color gradually returned to my vision.

The stench of alcohol increased as he leaned into me, so close that his lips brushed my ear and sent chills streaming down my neck. He smiled when he noticed me shudder. His voice was only a whisper, but the threat rang in my mind, "We won't be havin' no more of that, you hear? You're only makin' it worse for yourself."

He let me stew over the situation for a few seconds. _Don't think. If you think, you'll freak out. Just don't think..._

"Now you are gonna give me the keys."

I didn't move. _No way, Uncle Hal loves this truck._ He sighed, irritated. Since my back was facing him, I didn't see the punch to my kidney coming. I cried out and sank against the truck, clutching my side. It felt ten times worse that a stitch you'd get in your side when you run. This kind of pain lingers.

He cleared his throat expectantly. A quick surge of anger pushed back the pain. _You're still fighting, remember?_ The silver key was still suspended in the door handle. With slow caution, I removed it and gripped it firmly in my hand, teeth pointing out. I took a breath. _Now or never._

In one swift movement, I whirled around between him and the truck. Before he could react, I gorged the key in his face. He gripped the cut in shock, giving me an out. I barreled past him, my eyes on the lights of Vicksburg. My Mary-Jane work shoes landed heavily on the outfield as I sprinted to the thin cover of dried up trees that lined the field.

The impact knocked the breath out of me. The second man was fast. He tackled me to the ground, making me bite into the grass. My adrenaline pumped in my veins as he pinned my shoulders down roughly and yelled back to the other man for help.

"Let me GO!" I shouted. I must've been really loud, because some birds in the trees woke and flew into the night sky. I kicked whatever my legs could reach, which was nothing. I tried to push myself up, but the scrawny man had all his weight on my shoulders.

"I sure could use some help 'ere!" he called to the other man, who ran over. I screamed and kicked some more as he and the other man grabbed my ankles. My work skirt rode up my hips as they dragged me all the way back to the truck. I grabbed at the dried blades of grass, trying to find something to hold. The dead blades ripped out of the ground like they were nothing. I screamed in fear and frustration. Fighting was harder than it looked.

The men shouted at me to shut up and go to hell more times than I could count. When we did eventually get to the truck, the first guy dropped my foot. No sooner did I go to get up than he kicked me, with a steel-toed boot, mind you, in the gut. That pain was fifty times worse than getting punched in the side. I forgot to fight. I curled up slowly on the ground, arms wrapped around my stomach. Blood ran up my throat and into my mouth. I couldn't think or see or feel. My stomach had exploded and now the acids are eating me alive. Or at least it felt like it.

I don't know how long I laid there when they heaved me up and slammed me against the truck again. It'd felt like I'd been asleep for months; every part of me ached. Adrenaline took a hard toll on you after a while. I opened my eyes slowly. This was the first time I saw their faces. The first man was wearing a black shirt and jeans. He had the potential to be handsome if he didn't have sweat pouring off him or horrid alcohol breath. His curly hair seemed dirty blonde in the yellow glow of the streetlight. The second, scrawnier man wasn't handsome at all. His teeth were brown, his hair was greasy. His stubble and acne was a major turn-off. He was wearing a white shirt under filthy, ragged overalls covered in something red. On his arm was a tattoo of a cowgirl scantily dressed, with the words 'Billy the Kid' under her . . .

Thug number one smacked me across the face, "Bitch, I am _this_ close to killing you right now! Do you even know—"

He was interrupted by his friend, who whispered feverishly, "Jim, over there."

Jim followed his buddy's frightened look through the truck window to the far reach of the field. They didn't notice me peek around, too. At first I didn't see anything, but then it moved. It was a man, and he was walking towards us.

Jim pulled me down behind the truck and out of the black figure's view. He looked me dead in the eye as he said, "Listen. You've been very difficult so far. If you say anything, anything _at all_ to that guy over there, imma get my boy Billy here to chase that bastard down. Trust me, he's fast. Then imma let you watch him slit that man's throat ear to ear. Then I'll have him do the same to you. Understand? You're not gambling just your life any more. You decide if there will be two murders tonight."

We went silent. He allowed me to turn on my stomach and watch the man. Jim signaled Billy to cover the situation. He leaned against the hood of Uncle Hal's truck, lit a cigarette, and waited for our guest's approach.

As he got closer, his face was cast into shadow. He was very tall and bulky and had a long, stiff stride. He waved to Billy as he walked by . . . and kept walking.

_Did he see me? Should I call out to him?_ My mind was racing, debating what I should do. He was a pretty big guy, could Billy take him down? He was almost to the edge of the field. Jim was watching me, waiting to see what I would do. I began to cry. I felt so helpless! I knew I wouldn't risk this stranger's life just to save mine. But why couldn't he see me? He was right there, why couldn't he feel my distress? _Come back! I need you! Turn around! _I tried to send those messages through my mind. I thought them with every brain cell I could. My mental telepathy mustn't be very good though, because he didn't look back. His shadow disappeared into the trees surrounding the field.

"Get up," Jim hissed. His shadow fell over me as he waited. I didn't move. All these emotions were flying around in my head. I was angry the man didn't see me. I was annoyed at my assailants for picking me, of all people, to harass. I was disappointed at myself for not being strong enough to defend myself. I worried about what would happen to me tonight. And I was scared. Of everything.

All the negative feelings piled onto my shoulders, but I still wasn't thinking. My mind was turned off for my protection. Here, on the ground, with these men towering over me, my tears in the grass, I was weak. At the word, my mind sparked back on. _Why am I down here, hiding? I thought I was going to fight!_ And in that moment, a bolt of energy shocked me; my mind cleared for the first time since I saw my aunt this afternoon, and I felt strong. The fear was beaten away by my annoyance and the adrenaline started pumping again.

I slowly stood and turned to face the men. They weren't expecting me to stand and stare them straight in the eyes with a nasty expression and hands on my hips. The key was still remarkably in my hand, and I was gripping it like a knife. With my eyes, I dared them to try something. I considered just trying to get in the truck and drive away, but the moment I would turn my back on them, they'd have me by the hair. I also thought about just trying to run, but that'd be useless because they'd just catch me again. The last option I could see was to stand my ground. So that's what I did.

Jim held my gaze, but he didn't seem as sure of himself. Billy took a long drag on the cigarette, setting off a small headache, "Should we try this again, honey? Give me the key."

My hard expression didn't change, "No."

Jim's face cracked into a drunken smile, "You're not goin' down without a fight, are ya sweetheart?"

"Come at me and find out."

They faked me out. Jim took a step toward me, so I prepared myself to gash his face again. I didn't see Billy's fist make contact with my jaw. I screamed as I fell to the ground, blood filling my mouth again. I spit it out on the grass to try to get rid of the taste. It was like pennies were covering my tongue. I went to stand up, but they kicked me back down again. The dozens of brand new bruises on my body throbbed and blood continued to try to choke me. I was really getting tired of being beat up. Billy kicked my thigh. In the spur of the moment, I somehow caught his ankle in my hands. I leaned over and bit his leg as hard as I could through the dirty denim overalls. His sharp, high yelp made me smile to myself. And just like when Billy punched me, I didn't see the kick to the head coming. But whether I was ready for it or not, it came.

Blackness. No feeling. The world sounded mute. It was like when you have your ears underwater and the noises on the surface are reduced to murmurs. I was calm. It was a good feeling, being oblivious. I drifted around in the darkness for I don't know how long. I was nothing more than a grain of sand drifting on a vast ocean current. I liked it. But then somehow, there was a disturbance. It was quiet, but I could hear the crickets and cicadas again. Their rough song grew clearer the longer I listened.

It felt like a feather traced along my forehead, spreading warmth and sparks along my skin. I then could feel everything, even the dry grass scratching my skin. The soft touch sent chills down my body, which shocked me awake.

My eyes fluttered open as I remembered what was going on. As I let my eyes adjust back to reality, I saw what woke me from my knockout. It took me a moment, but when I recognized who it was, I felt like I could've died from relief . . .

.:oOo:.

I'm not the kind of guy who is big on religion or superstition, but _something_ told me that I'd better think about what I was going to do. I don't know, there was just some little twinge of anxiety deep down in my gut. I didn't like it. Just about nothing made me anxious, but tonight felt . . . different.

I stuffed my hands in my trouser pockets and continued my stroll through the streets of Vicksburg. I'd just gotten done an early dinner at the Lazy Friday. I hadn't had much because I wasn't too hungry; I went there more for the live music. Couples danced at the floor while people clapped at the bar and tables surrounding it. I sometimes wished I had someone to dance with, but a full-time partner would be too much of a drag on my free spirit.

I chuckled to myself at the thought. I had wandered away from the bustling part of the city into the streets of apartment buildings. However, the three-story building began to gradually feel that they were closing in on me. I decided to cut through the residential area to the outskirts of town. I didn't really know where I was going as I let the nagging feeling of something wrong drive my feet. The feeling got worse the farther from the city I wandered. I reached the trees surrounding the city. I kept going into them, crunching over the dead, dried leaves and needles. The bad feeling steered me farther away from civilization. I wasn't scared, it felt more like anticipation. Anticipation for what, I wouldn't find out until the trees started to thin out.

I reached the edge of the trees; they opened up to a field. To the right, a dried up baseball diamond was lit up by a single streetlight. To the left, there was open land, probably a field resting with just cover-crop planted. The baseball diamond was surrounding by the same ring of trees I was standing in. And in the middle of it all was a truck. A nice, black Ford with wooden slats guarding the bed . . . I knew it from somewhere.

A man standing next to it lit a cigarette. My feet must've been on autopilot, because I took long, firm strides toward him. I didn't know why, but I was suspicious of the whole situation. I kept my distance from him. The man puffed out the smoke in a cloud. As I got closer, he smiled eerily and put his hand up in greeting. The yellow glow of the streetlight made him look sickly. His skin was clammy and dotted with acne while his hair was greasy. His teeth were brown from rot and his faded overalls were filthy, dotted with red paint.

I waved back to him, but kept walking. Something was off with him. I didn't converse, or even look at him, I just continued calmly until I reached the trees on the opposite side of the baseball field. Once the shadows consumed me, I stopped and turned around to see who this guy was. _I'm turning into a creep_, I thought to myself as I watched him take another drag. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, another man appeared. _He must've been hiding behind the truck, but why?_

There was a pause. The new guy said something. They both had sour expressions and were staring at something on the ground I couldn't see.

Another figure stood from behind the truck. I could tell by the silhouette and long, wavy hair that it was a woman. She had her hands on her hips, facing away from me. The men watched her cautiously, I could see their mouths moving, but I couldn't hear a word that was exchanged. Then one took a step towards her.

Things turned south. I couldn't describe the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach when the guy who waved to me punched the girl in the face. It was like an explosion of rage, I felt it engulf my spine in flames. My fists clenched and I was running towards them. She had screamed and fallen to the ground out of sight. The men surrounded her and it seemed that one kicked her. My mind was buzzing with fury as I sprinted towards the group. _What kind of men team up two on one on a woman?_ I was halfway there when the guy who waved to me screamed. _She must be fighting_.

"She's bitin' me! Get'er off, Jim!"

Jim ran up and kicked her. I couldn't see, but I heard his foot make contact with her body. It was a dull thump. It made everything go quiet except my heavy footfalls. I ran faster still.

"Damn! We should just kill the bitch here, things ain't gonna get easier," the one who was bit said, frustrated.

The other one, Jim, rubbed the back of his neck, "Maybe you're right…"

I was only fifty feet away now. They saw me coming through the window of the truck. Jim called to his friend and they both backed away from the truck, debating whether they should run for it. It was too late, though. I slowed as I reached the truck, I wasn't even breathing hard. Adrenaline and anger pulsed through me, making everything slow down. I walked around the bed of the truck and drew myself up to my full height and puffed out my chest in a dominate kind of way. I cracked my knuckles menacingly.

The figure on the ground caught my attention. Something clamped on my stomach when I saw the woman lying there, the grass turned red by her blood. The blood rushed out of my fingers and toes and to my face when I recognized her. The fair complexion, dark brown hair, and nice figure were that of Payton Blake. She even still had her uniform on. She lay, bruised and bloodied on the dry grass, unconscious.

The blood in my body ran hotter than it ever had before in my life. My hands shook with pent up anger, I felt like I could kill the bastards who did this to her. I couldn't think of anything other than how angry I was. My head turned to Jim and Billy. My expression must not've been a happy one, because the two backed a few steps, not taking their eyes off me.

"What?" I growled low, taking a step forward, fists clenched, "You'll beat the shit out of a woman, but not someone your own size?"

Jim laughed, "Buddy, you the size of a bull."

Even though my voice was a primal growl, they understood it enough to exchange an uneasy look, "You're gonna pay for what you did to her. I'll make sure of it."

Jim's drunkenness gave him an air of cockiness that made everything he said ten times worse, "Oh really, big fella? You don't even know her, what do you care? Tell you what, you can have her when we're finished…" He measured my expression carefully, "Wait, you _do_ know 'er, don'cha?"

I glared at him.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, proud of his deductions, "Well I'll be! Sorry to have to tell you this, but she's a bit out of your league—"

There was ten feet between us, I crossed it and punched him in the temple before he could blink. He fell to the ground, unconscious. My knuckles didn't hurt in the slightest, but my fury wasn't soothed a bit, either. Billy took off running towards the trees. I ran after him, my legs stretching with every stride. My heart pounded, not from exhaustion but with adrenaline and pure anger. With every step I took, I kept seeing Payton's bruised and swollen face. I have never been so furious, and I've been furious a lot in my life. Just the fact that two men would beat a woman was so immoral that it made me feel sick.

I pursued Billy, but the distance between us got greater as either he sped up or I slowed down. I tried to go faster, but I just couldn't. He was too fast. I stopped when he disappeared into the trees. He was gone. I kicked the ground, fed up with everything. The adrenaline stopped, and I crashed into a headache. _Why couldn't I get him? Am I really that old?_

I remembered Payton. My feet went on their own, running back to her. I prayed that they hadn't hurt her to the point where she couldn't recover. Jim was still unconscious. I passed him and knelt next to Pay. Her lips were parted slightly over red-tinted teeth. Her right temple was turning purple and was swollen to the size of half a lemon. There were a few drops of blood on her white work shirt. Her nylons were ripped and she had a nasty bruise on one thigh.

I gently touched my first two fingers to her neck. I sighed, relieved, when I felt her steady pulse beating its own rhythm. I sat on the ground next to her, pretty sure she'd be okay. Just a little beat up, nothing too bad. I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking. _How did this happen? What kind of force made those men hurt such an innocent person?_

I glanced at her. Even though she was black and blue, I couldn't help but notice how attractive she was. I thought of what Jim had said, about how she was out of my league. I've never considered her like that, was he right? Why do I care, anyway? I promised myself when I was young I'd be single forever, and I've kept it for most of my 30 years except the occasional fling. I wasn't going to break that now. Was I?

_No, you don't need someone dragging you down, _I told myself. I glanced at her again. A few strands of her dark, wavy hair had fallen into her face. Without really thinking, I dragged my finger as gently as I could across her forehead, pushing the hair out of her eyes. When I drew my hand back, she groaned. Her gray-green eyes fluttered open, blank. Then they settled on me. At first, she was confused. I just looked at her, unsure what to say. After a moment, she recognized me. Her voice was softer than the breeze on the dry grass, but I heard her say my name clear as day.

"Brutal?"


End file.
